


kiss me before it melts

by MaGangstaBoy



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anal Sex, Dildos, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Rich Dowoon, Waiter Wonpil, Waiting, ice cream shop, not very explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 15:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaGangstaBoy/pseuds/MaGangstaBoy
Summary: « Don't wait for me to eat dinner honey. »in which Dowoon leaves early in the morning and comes back late at night. And Wonpil is tired of eating dinner alone.





	kiss me before it melts

**Author's Note:**

> ‘hi! Hope I can make this fic enjoyable for you.  
Just so you know, this is the first fic that I post here so I’d love to read feedbacks!  
Also I’m not an English speaker, so you may found grammatical mistakes or inaccuracies in vocabulary. I’m sorry in advance!  
But I really appreciated writing this fic, I had the idea stuck in my head for a long time and I kept on imagining it while listening to music, it was a pleasure and felt great to the soul haha. I’m not too disappointed on how I put it in writing.
> 
> enjoy <3

This night is cold in the appartement. "tick. tock. tick. tock..." The unceasing clock keeps ticking away. "plip. ploop. plip. ploop..." The tap drips one drop every second in the kitchen sink.

The sound of a waterfall takes over the clockwork as Wonpil drains the noodles in the sink. A vapor mist rises to his cheekbones, pieces of hair curling. "Tick. tock. tick. tock..." the second hand takes up again. "plip. ploop. plip. ploop..." goes the tap. A gridding fades away in the murky open-plan kitchen. Wonpil takes two bowls out of the cupboard.

He carefully disposes the noodles in the neat crockery. Wonpil's pianist hand initiates a ballet of chopsticks, decorating the blond locks with mushrooms, minced pork, onions, garlic. He adds a touch of vibrant color with red peppers flakes. In the style of a sandman, he makes a rain of salt and pepper fall onto the luscious oily eggs.

The San Xian noodles. 

There are _two_ place mats facing each other on the varnished wood table. There are _two_ soup spoons. There are _two_ cups of water. One emptied, the other is filled. To this scenery, Wonpil brings _two_ San Xian noodles bowls.

But there is _one_ man sat at the table, a gentle and warm orangey light underlining his facial features.

"Tick. tock. tick. tock..." just like a metronome... "plip. ploop. plip. ploop...". The vibration of Wonpil's phone steps in to disturb the scenery.

_ **From: Yoon Dowoon (9:35 PM)** _

_Stuck in the meeting room since 7. The Chinese are hard on the business. They set out tomorrow morning. We can't end the meeting without a signature. Don't wait for me to eat dinner honey._

Wonpil sigh deeply.

_ **From: Yoon Dowoon (9:36 PM)** _

_I love you._

_ **To: Yoon Dowoon (9:39 PM)** _

_ Don't worry baby. I hope they will give up on this case and give you the signature you need for the contract. I made San Xian noodles. But they won't taste the same once warmed up by the microwave. I love you. _

__  
**From: Yoon Dowoon (9:41 PM)**  


_I will try to hurry up. I am so exhausted, I just want to be in your arms._

__

_ **To: Yoon Dowoon (9:42 PM)**  
_

_ Be careful on the road please. And stop texting during a meeting if you want to get out quickly..._

Facing an _empty_ chair, a filled glass and a filled bowl, Wonpil finishes his noodles in an _empty_ room. Another waterfall in the sink as Wonpil washes his dishes. "Tick. tock. tick. tock..."

It's been twenty days and nineteen nights Wonpil is almost living alone in _their_ apartment. Although Dowoon holds an important post in an important company of Busan, he has never been busy to the point of leaving Wonpil at 6 with a kiss on the cheek in the morning and coming back home at 11 at night. 

Setting the scene, it's been twenty days Dowoon has an important agreement to make with a Chinese company, you certainly know the political situation between South Korea and China is, well, complicated? That's why even when Mr. Yoon is not at work physically, he is, mentally;

Wonpil wrestles with this phase. He already told Dowoon he knows well it's temporary, but he also knows Dowoon can't help but murmuring apologies at night in his ear, foolishly thinking Wonpil is in a deep sleep. 

"Plip. ploop. plip. ploop..." the tap looses a drip each second. "Plip. ploop. plip. ploop..." the water of the now cleaned bowl drips on the draining board.

Wonpil slides his wrists behind his waist to untie the apron's bow and arranges it on the kitchen's chair. He heads towards the armchair, in which he nestles with the velvet cover up to his chin. Wonpil looks around the living room. The weak light of the open-plan kitchen hardly succeeds at illuminating the half set dinner table. The velvet cover smells of vanilla, probably because Wonpil ate some last Saturday, curled up in the arms of his man, Dowoon. He fed him at the same time, liking the extra of ice cream Dowoon didn't catch with his mouth on _their_ shared spoon.

The fragrance of vanilla reminds Wonpil the first moments with Dowoon; Wonpil often think they were bound to be together, because they had nothing in their respective background that destined them for the dreamy couple life they are in. Nothing connected them together until the mesmerizing sound of chime tickles their ears one day, five years ago.

***

_It's a fine spring Wednesday at the ice cream shop. Wonpil is wiping down the ice cream stains on the working plan. He is not waiting for anything special. Usually, each days passes, bear resemblance to one another. He sweeps the room with his eyes. On the right corner, four teenage girls, sitting at a round table, take pictures of each others (for their respective instagram account probably), vibrant colored ice creams in their hands._

_In the middle of the shop, a couple struggles to eat their ice cream cones without making a melted ice cream mess on their hands. The baby, in the cumbersome stroller at their feet, paint his face with milk chocolate for all too long now._

_This is where the mesmerizing sound of chime tickles their ears. A man is standing at the shop's entrance, rolled up sleeves with the tie loosening and the collar of the shirt is a little bit more open. He comes across the colored ice cream palette. Wonpil behind the counter, and Dowoon before._

_"Welcome sir, haven't seen you there before. Is there something in particular you'd like to taste?" Wonpil says as he tries to keep all of his composure under the cryptic aura the man oozes, brushing his hair with his hand._

_"Hm... I'm not that much of an ice cream person, maybe are you more experienced than me in that subject..? " Wonpil giggles and wonder why the man is here if he's not an ice cream person; not that he complains though._

_"Well, these days, I am really into the vanilla one. I know it's simple but it comes from a small producer here in Busan and it is real good quality and.."_

_"Yeah, I'll go for it, maybe we have similar taste" (a/n: indeed but you'll discover it later Dowoon, I promise). Of course, careful as Wonpil holds out the ice cream for the man, their hands brush. After that, Wonpil is too distracted to work correctly, and feel the urge to glance at the man at least every ten seconds. He wonders how come a "business looking man" finds himself in the cute teenage landmark at the corner of a forgotten Busan's street._

_Following this, the man comes from time to time. First Wonpil calls him Mr. Yoon, then he becomes "Dowoon". But then Wonpil becomes "Hyung" and Dowoon is now "Dowoon-ah"._

_The same pattern is repeated again and again. Dowoon comes in the ice cream shop, orders vanilla ice cream and sits alone at a table for two, always taking care to be in the cute waiter's field of view. They can't keep their eyes off each other despite the fact that Wonpil is always busy with the customers._

_And just like that, Dowoon comes everyday after work. Firstly, he decides to stay a little longer. An hour or two._

_Then he stays until the last moment, the moment where Wonpil takes off his apron, indicating that it's time for him to leave._

_Then, he helps Wonpil to switch off the lights at the shop._

_Then he holds the shop's door for him before taking their own opposed way._

_Then, when winter comes, Dowoon suggests to walk Wonpil down to his street, "because the night quickly falls and your district is not the safest here"._

_Then, Wonpil doesn't take off his apron, and sits on the chair in front of Dowoon and they make small talks._

_Then, Wonpil moves the chair next to Dowoon's so that he can look at his manly imperfectly shaved beard more closely. Or look at what Dowoon is doing on his phone, what are the papers he brought on the table about._

_One day, during a small talk, Wonpil rests his hands on Dowoon's thigh and leans his lips on his "because you had some vanilla dripping down"._

Nothing connected them together but the taste of vanilla on their lips. 

_Further to which, it's not the shop's door that Dowoon holds for Wonpil but his own front door. Dowoon's apartment is way better than Wonpil's. Well, everything is better than an ice cream waiter's hovel anyway._

_This chapter of the story goes on for one year. From a vanilla ice cream, through a vanilla kiss to vanilla sex. And maybe Wonpil kissed something else because they was something else dripping down. Not vanilla._

***

Curled up in the velvet cover, Wonpil remembers these lovely days, he is thankful they are still going on, even if it's been twenty days and nineteens nights he feels alone. He is thankful they moved together after one year of relationship.

The apron on the chair reminds him of their first days in here:

***

_Around a quarter past ten, on the third floor of a calm Busan building, there are two men at the balcony holding their glass of wine. One rests his head on the tiny shoulder of the other. _

_« Wonpil, i have something for you ». The man takes Wonpil's hand in his and they disappear behind the French door._

_Wonpil slip the black silky ribbon between his fingers. A black matte box reveals a folded black silky piece of clothe. The drape unveils to the brunette's eyes as he takes it out._

_"You only wear your dusty apron, so I thought it would be a good idea to... have new one, for our new life?" Dowoon reaches behind Wonpil's back, "Let me do it" as he takes the apron from his hands. Wonpil shivers under Dowoon's digits on his collarbones as he slips the apron around his neck. Dowoon then ties it around the small waist, a cute black silky bow resting on Wonpil's butt. _

_"It looks nice." Wonpil murmures. "Thank you, Mister Yoon..."_

_Dowoon giggles. "Do you remember?"_

_"The time you were calling me Mister Yoon? at the ice cream shop? Of course I do."_

_The scenery is really lovely._

***

Carried by the sweet memories and muffled in the fragrance of vanilla, Wonpil's heart speeds up a little bit at the thought of his man. Nothing has changed. It got better.

That would be lying to say that Wonpil could afford his life quality without Dowoon's financial facilities. Wonpil is still working in an ice cream shop, but different than the one where they had the vanilla kiss. He owns his own now, with two or three students holding a part time job. Dowoon got severals pay increases and moved up in ranks since their relationship started.

"Tick. tock. tick. tock..."

"Plip. ploop. plip. ploop..."

Again, the vibration of the phone steps in and disturbs the scenery. Wonpil leaves his warm vanilla cocoon to reach for the phone, on the varnished wood table.

_ **From: Yoon Dowoon (10:37 PM)** _

_I hope my Wonpil is asleep already. Wednesdays are always busy days, right? You need your rest._

_ **To: Yoon Dowoon (10:37 PM)** _

_ I am about to go to bed. Please God make the meeting end soon, I don't want to spend all night alone... _

__  
**From: Yoon Dowoon (10:38 PM)**  


_I'm so sorry that you have to endure the wait honey. It's not my intention to make you spend the night alone. Soon is the end of this, I promise, wait until the end of the week, and then I won't be coming back late at night, never again, okay?_

_ **To: Yoon Dowoon (10:40 PM)**_

_ Okay babe. I already told you I understand. I love you so much Dowoon. _

__  
**From: Yoon Dowoon (10:44 PM)**  


_I love you Kim._

Wonpil leaves the murky kitchen and its unremitting clock to turn on his bedroom's light. From the creaking noise of the ebony drawer, he takes out two objects: a bottle of a mysterious fluid giving off a peach scent, and a pink translucent object sculpted of bubbles on top of the others.

Slowly, the tick tock of the clock, the plip ploop of the tap, will be replaced by the whining of a man, the panting too. The taut sheets of the bed will be gripped by small hands. The chanted « Dowoon » will be lost into the void. His heart will stop for a second as the man's shirt will be decorated by _something else. Not vanilla._

***

Dowoon pushes the front door.

Finally.

This night is cold in the appartement. The clock reads 23:57 PM. His steps fade away, as he reaches to the bedroom.

Here, between the sheets, rests a sleeping beauty in his navy pajamas made of silk. Dowoon delicately puts a gentle hand on Wonpil's hip bone, under the clothing. "I'm home honey." he whispers as he gives a passionated kiss in the hollow of his neck.

In the half-light of the kitchen, Dowoon eats the half-warmed San Xian noodles in a hurry. He is sitting in front of an empty chair with an unfolded apron thrown on it previously. The silence remains. There is just the "plip ploop" of the tap to remind him time still goes.

As he goes toward the bathroom to wash his face, much to his surprise, he finds Wonpil's pink bubble glass dildo in the bathroom sink. The toy, still coated with the peach lub, looks like he has been forgotten there.

Dowoon understands. He can't help but blush at the thought of his man, pleasuring himself alone. Moaning and crying, holding onto dear life until his climax. But Dowoon also feels guilty, because it's been nineteen nights they haven't made love. Yes. nineteen nights. Wonpil tried tho, but Dowoon is too stressed by work and the contract, and he told Wonpil he refuses to use him egoistically as a stress reliever. But he can't lie, his man's desires are reaching their limits, and nothing compares Wonpil's warmth.

Dowoon undresses quickly and slides in the bed, only an underwear on. He buttons Wonpil's shirt collar a bit more and grabs him by the waist to bring him closer to him, their legs tangled. Dowoon doesn't smell like vanilla, he smells like sweat. But Wonpil doesn't mind. He muffles his head in his man chest. "I am sorry my angel. I'm sorry."

And just like that Mr. Yoon and Mr. Kim fall asleep. Because Wonpil wasn't really asleep. Was he?

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos & comments~  
I'll try to update next chapter very soon


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